Yours,
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Leipzig, Aug. 8, 1840.
Dear Mrs. Moscheles,—Hurrah! I’m coming. I cannot give you a date; for if I bring my wife[41] (as I hope and trust to do), I shall start in about a fortnight, whereas, if I come alone, I shall be in London on the 8th of September, remain for the Festival, and return immediately after it. In the latter case I should have to abandon the long-cherished plan of introducing my wife to the country of my predilection and the dear friends I have there.
I fully rely upon your remaining in England and going to Birmingham as you promised. What a delightful trip we could make of it! What a pleasure to see Moscheles again, and to hear him! And then, all his new compositions which I shall really get to know and enjoy, whereas hitherto I have had to be satisfied with a kind of a sort of a description, or half a bar here and there doled out to me by some friend just fresh from London. We’ll have a regular feast of music. I, for one, am hungrier and thirstier for it than ever. And my godson, and the two charming young ladies, now grown to the dignity of real “misses,”—I shall have to renew my friendship with them, or rather take it up where we left it; and possibly Emily may have some dim recollection of former pianoforte lessons, and Serena of certain carnations. I shall expect my godson to remember having met me at St. Pancras Church,[42] and to call me by my name. Of myself I can only say, you will find me a hopeless case. Whatever talent I might have shown for speaking the English language or behaving like a gentleman, has been lost in the atmosphere of German petty provincialism. In some things you will find me unchanged, but won’t it annoy you all the more that I have not improved? Well, all that crosses my mind occasionally; but then I console myself with the thought that you will be pleased to see an old friend, whether he is improved or not, cleverer or less clever, and will give him, as of old, your friendship and your indulgence. How glad that friend, on his part, is at the idea of soon finding himself in your family again, it needs no words to assure you. May we meet in health and happiness, and may you be as kindly disposed as ever to
Yours,
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
On the 18th of September Mendelssohn arrived in London. Mrs. Moscheles writes of him to her relatives in Hamburg:—